


Sincerity

by servantofclio



Series: Maeve Surana [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surana wonders if all Zevran's compliments are truly sincere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincerity

Zevran flirted as easily as breathing; Maeve Surana realized this almost as soon as she had spoken to him. He flirted not only with herself, but with Leliana and Wynne, and with Alistair and Morrigan when he could get away with it. As best Maeve could tell, he complimented her neither more nor less after they had begun to sleep together than he had been doing before — either way, the stream of compliments was endless, and she took it in stride.

Over time, though, she wondered if there was, indeed, any end to it, how much of it was sincerely meant, and how much simply a conversational reflex.

The idea that he might feel obligated to shower her with compliments at every turn sat ill with her — the more so the longer their liaison continued. She did not require any such obeisance from him, only his honest self, and she was not sure whether he knew that.

“My eyes are nothing special,” she corrected him one night, after he had told her some nonsense about her eyes shining like moonlight over the sea. She said it calmly, without looking up from the mess of scrolls she was puzzling through.

“No? My lovely Warden, how can you say such a thing?”

She glanced up at him then, and took a moment to admire what the light of the campfire did to his bronze skin and golden hair. “Because it’s true,” she said matter-of-factly. “You needn’t flatter me, Zevran, I’m not that particular about my looks, and I know my eyes aren’t my best feature.” Her eyes, in fact, were small, and a muddy, indiscriminate color that was neither green nor grey nor brown.

“A little color and liner around them would do wonders,” Leliana put in helpfully.

“I’ll keep that in mind if I need to go anywhere formal,” Maeve assured her, returning to her scrolls.

“And what if I disagree with you, my dear Warden?”

She looked up again and met Zevran’s challenging gaze. Her eyebrows arched. “Disagree with what? I assure you, I’ve scrutinized my own appearance adequately. I know I have better features.”

“You have quite lovely skin,” Leliana said.

“Mostly because I’ve spent my whole life indoors,” Maeve said.

“And your hair is also very thick and lustrous, though you keep it so short.”

“I’ve singed the ends of it more than once,” Maeve replied. Zevran’s amber eyes were still fixed on her, narrowing slightly. “Come now, Zev, are you sincerely trying to tell me you think my eyes are my best asset?”

“Oh, I can think of quite a number of _assets_ in your possession, fair lady,” he said, with an arch glance over her that left little guess about what aspects of her body he might be referring to.

Maeve’s lips curled up. Leliana stifled a giggle. Alistair, who had seemed to be concentrating on caring for his weapons, let out a nervous burst of laughter. “Right, that’s... that’s splendid, can we talk about something else now?”

Maeve set the top scroll aside and reached for the next. “By all means,” she said. She was not embarrassed, but she had no wish to discomfit Alistair, or drive him away from the fireside.

Zevran subsided, though he poked at the fire with more vigor than was strictly necessary. After a short pause, Leliana made an artless remark about some birds she had seen in that day’s travel. Alistair responded with relieved fervor, with Wynne joining them a short time later. Maeve bent her head to her scrolls, letting the conversation drift on without her. The chatter made a pleasant backdrop to her studies.

She put her work away at last when her eyes began to ache. Sten squatted by the fire now, Alistair and Leliana having taken over the watch; Wynne still pored over her book, but Zevran was nowhere to be seen.

Maeve rose and stretched the kinks out of her spine. She put the scrolls back in their protective case and took that to her tent before walking down to the stream.

Baths were one of her great indulgences. She had been too used to bathing regularly in the tower, perhaps, where it was simplicity to conjure and heat water. She still preferred to wash off each day’s travel dust and grime, if she could, even though it was much less convenient. The others had become used to her habit by now, and thought nothing of her slipping away for a brief spell in the evening. She took her boots off and dipped her feet in, first, letting the cool water wash the sweat from her toes, and then stripped off the rest of her garments, leaving them in a grassy spot on the bank. She washed herself efficiently enough and was just emerging when Zevran’s voice came out of the shadows.

“Aha, I thought I might find you here.”

“And find me you have,” she said, shaking drops of water out of her hair.

He stepped out from behind a tree, face shadowed in the dim moonlight. Maeve could not read his expression, though she thought she saw some tension in his stance. “And what brings you here?” she asked lightly, making no move toward her discarded clothing.

“One might wonder if you no longer care for my attentions,” he said.

He’d kept his tone light, but Maeve tilted her head, trying to gauge what he was truly feeling. He was good at keeping things hidden. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a ball of light and set it floating between them, giving her a view of his face: lips compressed and turned down, eyes hooded. Ah. She’d misfired, and badly. “One needn’t wonder,” she said easily, taking a few cautious steps toward him.

“Oh?” His eyes traced up and down her naked body. “And yet you turn away a compliment?”

“I only meant that you need not compliment me insincerely,” she said, stopping a short distance in front of him. Within easy reach, if he chose.

“And what if I sincerely believe that your eyes are beautiful?”

She barely masked her sigh. “Zevran. Do you really expect me to believe that? You must have seen many a lovelier pair of eyes in your time.”

“But none were yours,” he said fiercely, his eyes meeting hers. “You are a beautiful woman, my Warden, every part of you.”

“I am not so vain—” she began, but he interrupted.

“Your hair, your chin — you have a marvelous chin, have I ever told you that? Your ears—” He reached out a hand and traced the outer curve of her pointed ear, making her shiver. “—your breasts are a perfect handful, your derriere simply magnificent—”

She smiled at that, as his gaze traveled over the anatomy he mentioned.

“Your lips.” His hand glided over her jaw, thumb lingering at the corner of her mouth.

“I have thin lips,” she pointed out, working to keep her voice level.

“They are most kissable nonetheless,” he said in a voice gone rough, and bent his head to kiss her, a warm and thorough claiming that left her breathless, almost unsteady on her feet. All the smoothness was back when he lifted his head and said, “And your eyes are lovely, as well. You must allow me my peccadilloes.”

She laughed softly, swaying a little on her feet. He reached to steady her, calloused hands warm on her bare skin. “Peccadilloes, is it?” she murmured. “Just remember, I don’t need you to say anything to me that you don’t mean.”

“So long as you remember that I mean every word most sincerely.” His smile glinted in the moonlight. “And you, fairest of Wardens, need not play coy with me. It does not suit you.”

She tilted her face up to look directly at him. “You prefer me bolder, then? Is that one of your peccadilloes?”

“Amora, you are fierce as flame, and I would not have you hide anything you are.”

She laughed and pulled him to her for another kiss. The light she had conjured faded out, leaving them in moonlight and shadow.

It was not the first time they had trysted by a stream, not far from their campsite, and she doubted it would be the last. His hands roved freely over her body, and between kisses he murmured compliments into her skin; she pushed him onto his back in the grassy bank and straddled him, impatient, when he was only half out of his leathers.

In the end, words became irrelevant. They told their thoughts in quickening breaths, in fingers laced together, in the warmth of skin on skin. After, he lingered while she donned her robes again, and offered his arm while they walked back to camp. She could see even in this dim light that his eyes were soft when he looked at her.

So be it, she thought; let him compliment her as he liked, even if she thought the praise unjustified.

Something in her thrilled at the thought of what that might mean to him, and the gaze that she returned to him was as soft and fond as his own.


End file.
